


Anything

by Kushimani



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, But more for Harry, Hurt No Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I feel bad for both of them, M/M, Someone also please give Voldemort a hug, Someone please give Harry a hug, Suicide, or pat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:33:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29260521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kushimani/pseuds/Kushimani
Summary: Harry glanced up at the sky, the sun below the horizon already. The sky was colored in reds, yellows and oranges. Gryffindor colors. It reminded him of warm nights by the fireplace at the Weasley’s, sipping hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows. Of knitted Christmas sweaters, Butterbeer, and late nights whispering to Ron and Hermione-his heart ached-about what they would all like to do after defeating Voldemort.The only reason he was even up here was because Voldemort foolishly left the door unlocked to the lavish room he had been given, the other assuming that he wouldn’t try to run, because he was Voldemort’s beloved Horcrux, and he had been docile for the past two days. Grieving.The reminder of having a shard of Voldemort’s soul inside of him made him feel nauseous.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 31
Kudos: 226





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I imagine that Voldemort has the feels for Harry, even if just because of the Horcrux, so the pairing is Harry Potter/Voldemort.  
> TW: Suicide and feels

Harry shuffled his feet as he approached the edge, feeling the slightest bit frightened for a split second, before the numbness swallowed it up once more.

He slowly lowered himself onto the edge of the tower, legs swinging over the edge as he sat at the part where the railing had fallen in the battle. The ground seemed so far below. 7 stories, perhaps? Hermione had always complained about the lack of a lock on the door to the tower, stating that it was a safety hazard.

But, Hermione wasn’t here anymore. Nor was Ron, or anyone else he loved.

Below, Death Eaters were using their magic to repair Hogwarts, a task that Voldemort demanded of them, despite it being mere days after the battle. Harry had thought they would celebrate for weeks.

Harry felt ill just thinking of the monster’s victory. His fingers twitched, itching to grab his wand, before remembering that it had been snapped, and the two broken pieces were taken by Voldemort once Harry was captured.

Harry glanced up at the sky, the sun below the horizon already. The sky was colored in reds, yellows and oranges. Gryffindor colors. It reminded him of warm nights by the fireplace at the Weasley’s, sipping hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows. Of knitted Christmas sweaters, Butterbeer, and late nights whispering to Ron and Hermione- _his heart_ _ **ached**_ -about what they would all like to do after defeating Voldemort.

The only reason he was even up here was because Voldemort foolishly left the door unlocked to the lavish room he had been given, the other assuming that he wouldn’t try to run, because he was Voldemort’s beloved _Horcrux,_ and he had been docile for the past two days. _Grieving._

The reminder of having a shard of Voldemort’s soul inside of him made him feel nauseous.

A few stars began to twinkle in the sky. The sight reminded him of Dumbledore. If Dumbledore hadn’t died, would things have turned out differently? Or if Harry had died, ridding Voldemort of his last Horcrux, would Voldemort be gone?

Harry felt exhausted, the fatigue both mental and physical. It sunk deep into his bones, making his limbs feel much heavier than they actually were. He was tired.

So, _so_ tired.

“Harry.”

Harry didn’t tense, his gaze fixed the rapidly darkening sky. It no longer reminded him of warmth and _love._ The bloody red and dark blue reminded him of bloodshed and death. War.

“ _Harry._ ” Voldemort murmured once more. Harry couldn’t hear the man’s footsteps, so he was likely near the door Harry had left open, not daring to take another step in fear of Harry leaning forwards and _falling._

Just like Dumbledore had.

The thought of doing the same as the old wizard sounded strangely appealing.

Harry leaned forwards the slightest bit, peering over the edge. The ground was so, so far below. If Harry fell, he’d land straight on the stairs leading up to the entrance. Red everywhere, dripping off the steps morbidly. Perhaps he’d land on one of the Death Eaters below. Wouldn’t that be _wonderful?_

“Harry, darling, come here.” Voldemort said carefully, barely restrained anger lingering in his tone. Harry just hummed noncommittally, ignoring him. Voldemort treated him like an obedient _pet._ He would not obey him, especially when he treated him as such.

The thought of falling once more sounded so very tempting.

If he did, he would be with Ron, Hermione, Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley, Fred, George, Luna, _everyone._

The mere thought had him _breathless._

Voldemort seemed to sense it, for he spoke, the anger in his tone turning to desperation, “Come here, Harry. What do you want? I’ll get it for you. Anything. Just _come here._ ”

Finally, Harry turned his head, twisting his body the slightest bit so he could stare at the man. Yes, _man,_ for that’s what he was. Not a monster. Just a man that has made terrible, terrible choices. And will pay the price for them.

Harry stared at Voldemort through lowered lashes, lips twitching upwards just the _slightest_ bit at the barely hidden expression of fear and panic on the man’s face.

“What could you possibly offer me, Voldemort?” Harry asked before he could think, the words coming out automatically. Even to his ears, he sounded dull. _Lifeless._

“Gold, jewels, anything you want.” Voldemort said instantly, taking a half-step forwards, as if he had Harry on his hook with just those words.

Such a pitiful offer.

“Anything?” He murmured, head tilting as if in contemplation. His hair was incredibly messy, not having been brushed for days. Harry was sure there were bruises beneath his eyes from lack of sleep. Any attempt led to nightmares.

“ _Anything._ ” Voldemort confirmed, taking another step forwards. He was gaining confidence.

Harry raised his head, staring at him with wide green eyes. “Then, can you bring my family back?” He knew the answer.

He watched as Voldemort froze, caught off guard.

“ _Harry,_ you know I cannot. What else would you like, darling?” Voldemort murmured, as if he could persuade him easily. Another step.

Harry shifted, getting a feel for how easily he could tilt himself over the edge. So, _so_ easy.

Voldemort caught the movement, and a flash of madness showed in his red eyes. “ _Darling,_ don’t do that. Come to me.” He _pleaded._ Harry didn’t think Voldemort had ever pled before.

He wouldn’t do it. _Yet._ Harry wanted to see Voldemort _break_ before he did.

“You lied. You said you’d give me _anything._ ” Harry accused, just to push Voldemort a bit more. He could see from the look in his red eyes that he was about to break. Voldemort couldn’t handle losing another Horcrux.

“Anything but that, darling. Harry, _please._ ” Voldemort said, fingers twitching, as if to grab his wand. Harry knew he wouldn’t, thinking it would frighten him. And if Voldemort were to try and use magic to stop his fall, he wouldn’t be able to get his wand out in time.

Harry tilted his body towards the edge, still watching Voldemort, and-

Harry saw Voldemort _snap._

 _  
  
_Magic seemed to buzz everywhere, projecting Voldemort’s emotions and filling the air with the sense of panic, fear, and horror.

The wind whistled in his ears as he fell, straight towards the stairs below.

  
  
As Harry stared up at the dark sky, stars winking, he finally felt _relieved._

He was going home.


	2. Darling, Don't Do That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For one of my commenters that made me want to write a Voldemort POV. Thank you for the idea, MsNotsoPresentSidekick. (~`w')~<3

When Voldemort felt the wards he put around his Horcrux’s room _tear_ and then vanish, he went into a rage.

Who _dares_ enter a room he declared forbidden? Had someone guessed he kept his Horcrux there, and decided to take him from Voldemort?

Voldemort apparated with a loud _crack,_ appearing in the center of his Horcrux’s room. The green, silk sheets were pushed back, as if Harry had kicked them to the edge of the bed. There wasn’t any sign of a struggle, and he could not sense any foreign magic, so he allowed his anger to dim a bit. His Horcrux had probably just decided to take a walk, despite his orders not to.

Voldemort flicked his wand, triggering the tracking charms he left on the boy. He felt a tugging sensation in his wand, and followed the faint tug.

He ignored the bows of his Death Eaters, striding through the halls of Hogwarts, towards where the stairs of the Astronomy Tower are. Voldemort was vaguely amused at the fact his Horcrux had managed to get that far without his Death Eaters dragging him to Voldemort, but he instantly felt anger again. His darling Horcrux had disobeyed him, leaving the safety within the wards Voldemort left around his room. Harry would have to be punished.

The thought of punishing his Horcrux made something in his chest ache, but Voldemort ignored it. His Horcrux needed to learn that Voldemort would not tolerate disobedience. Bellatrix would love to punish Harry for him. Perhaps Voldemort would lock the boy within his own chambers afterwards, to ensure he would not leave next time. Tying his wrists to his bedposts sounded appealing.

He walked up the steps of the tower, easily avoiding some debris that had fallen from the roof during the battle. Voldemort wondered why his Horcrux had decided to go to such a place. Why not go to the Gryffindor common room? Voldemort assumed that his darling was the _sentimental_ type.

He nearly sneered at the thought.

Voldemort passed through the open door, onto the tower. There wasn’t much debris, as the Astronomy Tower remained nearly untouched. The roof had a few holes here and there, the fallen parts crumbled on the ground.

Voldemort paused, staring at his Horcrux. He was sitting on the edge of the tower, legs dangling over the side. A very dangerous position, as there were no wards keeping him from falling.

“Harry.” Voldemort called softly. His Horcrux didn’t react, focused on something in the distance. He felt a twinge of annoyance in his chest at being ignored by his possession.

“ _Harry,_ ” he repeated, keeping his slowly bubbling anger hidden. Voldemort didn’t approach, not wanting to frighten his Horcrux, and risk losing him over the edge. He did not take out his wand, though he itched to do so.

Voldemort stiffened, breath hitching as his darling leaned forwards slightly, staring down towards the steps below. Surely he would not fall?  
  


The thought made him _frightened._ His Horcrux could not fall. Voldemort had not yet put protection charms on him, to protect his beloved Horcrux from harm. Harry could not die, for that would leave Voldemort _vulnerable._

That wasn’t the only reason though, was it? He had grown _fond_ of his darling. Beautiful green eyes that would occasionally gain a glint of anger, vanishing the grief for a moment, before it swallowed the anger whole, sending him back into crippling grief. His Horcrux had not been able to stand for days because of it, bedridden. Voldemort wondered why he came out of his depression _now._ He had enjoyed seeing the boy in the middle of the large bed, covered in green, silk sheets.

“Harry, darling, come here.” Voldemort said, trying to keep his tone gentle. Anger simmered beneath the gentleness, though. His Horcrux _dared_ to put himself, and therefore Voldemort, in danger?

And then, Voldemort went still. His darling was _wanting_ to fall. Through their connection, he could feel the _longing._

Desperation filled him, the anger long gone. “Come here, Harry. What do you want? I’ll get it for you. Anything. Just _come here._ ”

Finally, _finally,_ his darling turned, staring at Voldemort through lowered lashes. His glasses were long gone, shattered, his eyesight fixed by a potion, as he could not have his Horcrux vulnerable. His darling looked so _tired._ Dark bruises sat beneath his eyes, caused by lack of sleep. Voldemort knew his Horcrux couldn’t sleep, for nightmares would seek him instantly. His darling had slipped off many times, only to awake, screaming in terror.

Voldemort had been debating on whether or not to force his Horcrux to drink a bottle of Dreamless Sleeping Draught that night. Said bottle was lying on Voldemort’s bedside table, awaiting his decision.

His darling’s hair was messier than usual, and his skin had an ill tint to it. He had bruises littering his skin, on his wrists, throat, and Voldemort knew that beneath the overly large robes he had given the boy, there were bruises scattered across the rest of his body. A few of those bruises he had made himself in a fit of anger, a mere day after the battle. At the time, Voldemort had had a sudden flash of anger at a reminder that this _boy_ had caused him so much trouble over the years.

Voldemort had wrapped his hands around his darling’s throat and _squeezed,_ until his Horcrux was thrashing, tears escaping pretty green eyes, and Voldemort snapped out of it.

After that, Voldemort had given Harry a warning not to leave the room, and left, not bothering to use the lock. If his darling disobeyed, then he would be punished. As simple as that. Monitoring spells had been what signaled to him his Horcrux was having nightmares.

Voldemort watched Harry’s lips twitch upwards the slightest bit, as if _amused._ He could sense no true amusement, though.

“What could you possibly offer me, Voldemort?” Harry asked, and Voldemort noted his tone was lifeless. Unacceptable. His Horcrux should always look, feel and _sound_ alive.

“Gold, jewels, anything you want.” He said instantly, taking a small step forward. His Horcrux would surely accept, and come to him.

“Anything?” Harry murmured, head tilting contemplatively.

“ _Anything._ ” Voldemort confirmed, regaining his confidence. He took another step towards his darling.

Then, Harry lifted his head so that they made eye contact, green eyes _wide,_ “Then, can you bring my family back?”

Voldemort froze, surprised. He could not do such a thing. Voldemort did not know _how,_ and it was likely impossible. Not that he would do it anyways. His darling’s _family_ was full of Mudbloods and Blood Traitors.

“ _Harry,_ you know I cannot. What else would you like, darling?” He said softly. His darling could choose something else. Anything that was possible, and did not endanger either of them. He took a step forward.

Voldemort watched Harry shift, and he tensed. Madness threatened to consume him. His darling was being foolish. “ _Darling,_ don’t do that. Come to me.” He pleaded, pride gone. Harry could not _die._

“You lied. You said you’d give me _anything._ ” Harry accused him, green eyes so, _so_ accusing.

Voldemort resisted the madness he was about to sink into at the unspoken threat of Harry _falling,_ down, down, _down-_

“Anything but that, darling. Harry, _please._ ” His fingers twitched, aching to grab his wand and force Harry to come to him. He didn’t, though. Voldemort did not want to frighten his darling over the edge. He had to be careful, and persuade him.

And then, his darling _tilted._

Something in him _broke._

His magic escaped him, flooding the area with the feeling of horror, fear, and pure panic.

Voldemort felt his legs give out. His darling was gone, _gone, gone gonegonegone-_

Something _ached,_ so, so badly. His chest _hurt._ His darling was _gone._

A pained noise left his lips as he curled in on himself. He had _failed his darling._ Lord Voldemort did not _fail._

At that moment, he was no longer Lord Voldemort. He was five year old Tom Riddle, _sobbing_ in his room as he was returned by a family for being too _freakish-_

Six, curled up beneath a threadbare sheet, coughing and wheezing from a horrible sickness that was going around the orphanage-

Fourteen, curled up away from the other children in a bomb shelter, terrified that he would _die, die, die-_

And now, 71, clawing at his chest, tears escaping him for the first time in _decades,_ grieving over the loss of his darling, his _Harry._

Lord Voldemort was gone, leaving behind the broken pieces of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

**Author's Note:**

> You were warned. u,u


End file.
